


dots and dashes

by SmittyJaws



Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst and Feels, Asexual Character, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23761981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmittyJaws/pseuds/SmittyJaws
Summary: Roger’s 8 when his mother explains the string tied around his wrist to him.Everyone has one,she says.It connects you to your soulmate. No one can see it but you and your mate, but it will always connect you, no matter how far apart you might be.
Relationships: Roger Taylor (Queen)/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 11





	dots and dashes

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, the Stringmate AU fic I’ve been working on since last September! Big thanks to @mothmandeacon for not only letting me bounce ideas off her, but for giving me the push to finally complete this fic!
> 
> Warnings for mentions of brief physical abuse, emotional/mental abuse, and intrusive thoughts.

Roger’s 8 when his mother explains the string tied around his wrist to him. _Everyone has one,_ she says. _It connects you to your soulmate. No one can see it but you and your mate, but it will always connect you, no matter how far apart you might be._

Roger thinks that’s pretty cool; that there’s a tangible connection between him and someone else out there. He tugs on the string experimentally, wondering if it will do anything or if his soulmate will even notice. A moment or two later, he feels a tug back in response, and Roger’s delighted — they felt it too! They may not be able to communicate more than this, or know who each other is yet, but they _know_ the other is out there.

He runs to tell his mother, ecstatic at his new discovery, but all he finds is his father, sneering down at him and making Roger tremble slightly. _Soulmates! Pah. Load of useless fairy tale rubbish,_ he scoffs. _When you grow up, you’ll realize that you need to move on from childish make-believe like this._

Roger wonders if his mother and father have a string connecting them, because they don’t seem to act like it.

——

Roger’s 12 when his father hits him for the first time.

He’d brought home some poor marks from school (admittedly his own fault; he’d skipped classes to hang around with friends), and instead of the purely verbal tongue-lashing Roger was certain he’d receive, he finds himself suddenly reeling from a powerful slap to the cheek.

_What’s the matter with you, boy? I work to keep you clothed and fed, and this is how you repay me? You’ll never make it far in life if you keep this up; no one wants a useless layabout in their lives._

And maybe Roger doesn’t know when to keep his mouth shut. Maybe he should have just bitten his tongue and said nothing, but he can’t help it; his mouth moves faster than his brain and he retorts back: _My soulmate will! I’ll find them one day, and they’ll want me._

He immediately flinches after when his father looms over him menacingly, but he doesn’t hit Roger. He simply laughs. _Still on about that ridiculous nonsense? Grow up, boy — the real world doesn’t have happy endings like that. Now go to your room. You’re to stay there til supper to think about what you did._

Roger tugs the string a few times while he’s stuck in there, comforted slightly by the responding tugs he gets back. One day, he decides. One day he’ll find them and prove his father wrong.

——

Roger’s 14 when he teaches himself Morse code.

He’s not sure why he didn’t think of it sooner; how a system of flashing lights could easily be converted to short and long tugs on his string. He’s restless, practically vibrating with energy when he has the thought at school one day, and barely pays attention in his classes (the ones he attends, anyway — he still skips some of the others).

He makes up excuses to not see his friends after school, making a beeline to the library to print off a sheet on the Morse code alphabet for himself. He tries not to be home late, but is still given another smack and a rough hand on his shoulder when his father growls that he was called about Roger’s class absences, and his mother is silent in the corner, face downturned and eyes teary. (Roger wonders if his father hits her too, or if he at least spares her that.)

Once he’s put up with running the gauntlet that is his father, Roger sequesters himself in his room, putting on his glasses so he can actually read the printout and hiding the printout inside a textbook in case his father comes in. He decides to try it out: four short tugs, a space, then two more short tugs. ( _Hi.)_

He waits. There’s no response. He tries again: ( _I’m Roger. You?)_

He waits and tries again, repeating his sentence introducing himself, just to be sure. After 10 minutes with no movement, he’s almost about to give up; ready to put the sheet away and write this off as a wasted effort when he feels a series of tugs back and he’s eagerly referencing his sheet to translate it: ( _Hello.)_

Roger’s ecstatic. They have a system! They can talk! Who cares what his father thinks?

——

Roger’s 18 when he stops getting an automatic response to the tugs.

He’s been struggling lately; trying to balance playing drums, keep marginally on top of his school studies (enough to keep teachers and his father off his back, anyway), and avoid drawing his father’s attention at home.

Lately it seems as though his only real comforts have been drumming and his Morse code conversations with his soulmate, who he has learned is named Jay. All of his friends are off snogging or fucking girls (or boys, in a few cases), and while Roger’s tried it for himself — hey, he’s curious and horny; can anyone blame him? — it’s not as satisfying in the long run as he’d been led to believe, and he finds himself more eager to go someplace where he can’t be interrupted and just talk to Jay.

He doesn’t need the sheet anymore for reference; hasn’t for a while, as he’s gotten so proficient. That doesn’t make it any less painful when his father waves it in his face upon his return home one day, a black and white declaration of Roger’s carelessness. _Why would you need this? Is this why you’ve been doing so poorly in your classes? Useless,_ he sneers, before ripping the thing to shreds and giving Roger a shove in the shoulder for good measure.

(His father doesn’t hit him so much since Roger finally got taller, but it doesn’t stop him from flinching anyway when his father gets too close or speaks too loudly.)

He storms off to his room, looking forward to talking to Jay, as his father’s mood clearly means there will be no drums tonight. _(Hi, Jay.)_ he sends, and busies himself with tidying his room a bit while he waits. Only, “a bit of tidying” turns into “organizing most things on his desk and in his drawers”, and still there’s no answer.

He tries again: ( _You there?)_

Nothing. He waits for another 30 minutes before giving up, mood soured for the evening. He curses to himself about wasting his time, then immediately feels a pang of guilt for thinking that. There must be a good reason she didn’t respond, right?

——

It’s been weeks. Weeks and no answer. Roger’s not sure whether to be angry, to be sad, to be worried, so he settles on a mix of all three and throws himself into drumming, finishing A levels, and applying for universities instead. His father is breathing down his neck for any perceived missteps, and Roger really can’t wait to move out and be done with this.

The afternoon that Roger finds out he’s been accepted to college to study dentistry, there’s also a series of rapid frantic tugs on the string, and he’s taken aback.

There’s no pattern at first, just sharp insistent tugs trying to get his attention before he can make out the start of words, hurried and misspelled: ( _sory fr no ansr. Parnts ben wching me fr scool stuf n said no talkin. I jus got a cel phon tho, my numbr is 07743 271–)_

The message stops there and Roger wants to scream; he doesn’t have the last three digits of her number! How’s he supposed to contact her now?

Although, he is slightly reassured by the message, even if it does worry him that she’s apparently under such close supervision to prevent her from talking to him. Is he a distraction?

He flinches as his father’s words come to mind unbidden: _all you do is lay about and talk a lot of shit. You’re not a good influence on anyone, and you need to straighten out your life._ Roger doesn’t like to think he’s truly headed down such a bleak path, but maybe he _is_ just a distraction. Maybe he needs to leave Jay alone and wait for her to reach him?

He sends back one last message of his own: _(It okay. Sorry to hear. My number is 07756 472823 if you want. Won’t distract anymore. Sorry.)_

Now all that’s left to do is wait.

——

Roger’s 20 and still hasn’t met his soulmate.

He’s moved out, away from Cornwall — _away from his father_ — off to London and in his second year of studying dentistry (which he hates with a passion, and he really ought to change his major), and playing in a band called Smile. He ought to be happy; he’s doing what he loves, he’s free from his father’s heavy handed reach (though he worries about his mother), and yet — conversations with Jay have all but ground to a halt over the past two years.

They do talk periodically, but it’s nothing like the early days when they chatted daily — she tells him that her parents are concerned about her academic progress, and while she’s finally finished her own A levels and is moving on to university herself, they’ve still asked her to focus on her studies. _[They won’t help pay for my tuition otherwise,]_ she texts him, a short tug on the string accompanying it in apology. _[I really need this; I have so many courses I don’t have time for work right now, but between their help and my loans I’m okay. I can’t afford to lose that. :( ]_

_[I understand,]_ Roger replies, but inwardly he feels a bit sick. Maybe it’s just an excuse to not see him, to not have to deal with him? He tries to drown out the voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like his father, telling him that he’s not a good influence, that anyone who hangs around him is being dragged down in the long run. Brian and Tim have seemed to be fine with him; perhaps he’s overthinking this?

And yet, when the most he receives is _[Hi/how’s it going/busy, you?/same]_ Roger can’t help but feel a bit worried. Maybe it doesn’t matter that they’re literally tied together; maybe they’ll drift apart the way his parents did, or grow bitter in the long run. (He still has no idea if his parents are actually tied together. Maybe he’ll never know.)

——

When he first gets the text asking about meeting up, Roger doesn’t know what to expect. He wants to be excited, to be happy about meeting Jay — the person on the other end of his string, and yet, all he feels is confusion. Brian hasn’t met his, either; just complains at all hours to anyone who’ll listen (usually Roger) about the tangle his mate causes their string, but Brian doesn’t seem anywhere nearly as on edge as Roger does.

_What if she doesn’t like me?_ he asks once, to which Brian just scoffs.

_Everyone likes you. The ungodly amount of people you’ve brought back to this flat at all hours are proof of that,_ he says and goes back to whatever ridiculously complicated astrophysics textbook he’s reading.

_But what if she doesn’t? This is different,_ Roger argues.

Brian looks up with an annoyed sigh at being interrupted. _You said she’s been talking to you for years now, right? I don’t think people tend to deliberately keep up conversation with people they don’t like._ His expression softens. _Just try not to overthink it, okay?_

Roger agrees, but inwardly he’s terrified.

——

His anxiety and need to make a good impression have him show up to the agreed-upon meeting place 20 minutes early, and he slouches in his hoodie against a wall, watching people walk by and waiting for a movement in the string poking out of his sleeve. 20, 30, 40 minutes go by, and nothing happens, and Roger is tense. He sends off a text: _[Hey, we’re still on for today, right? To meet up?]_

Almost immediately, he gets a text back in response: _[Oh, God, I’m so sorry. My dad had to go to the hospital with bad chest pains, so I had to go take care of that. I completely forgot to let you know. Can we reschedule?]_

_[Yeah, definitely,]_ Roger sends as he sighs and prepares to catch the bus back home, but doubt is starting to worm his way into his mind. _Who’d want to meet you?_ his father sneers in his mind. _A lazy good-for-nothing boy who still believes in fairy tales and happily ever afters._

Roger hunches his shoulders a bit more for the rest of the day, and if Brian and Tim notice that he sounds a bit off during band practice, neither of them say anything.

——

Roger’s 21 and nothing is going right.

Tim has left the band, abandoning him and Brian for something called _Humpy Bong_ , of all things, and even though they’ve already gotten a new lead singer in the form of one Freddie Mercury (who is enthusiastic and always ready for a bit of fun, and Roger secretly thinks Brian is grateful that Roger finally has someone else to talk to about his soulmate woes and can leave him to actually study), they still don’t have a bass player, which is something a band needs if they want to go anywhere.

He’s switched his major (and his school) and is now taking Biology. He enjoys it a lot more than dentistry — he really has no idea what he was thinking when he decided to study that — but it’s also a lot more work when you actually care to make an effort in your classes (shocking, he knows). It’s meant that his own free time is next to non-existent, and despite his best efforts, his habits of late night drinking and gallivanting about the greater London area’s population of young/attractive/single women (well, not always single, but that was _one time,_ and despite Brian’s ribbing, it was an _accident_ ) has rather ground to a halt.

Brian jokes that Roger can hardly be throwing around nerd jokes at his expense anymore as it’s become the pot calling the kettle black, but Roger ignores him and continues to rib Brian: _It’s not as though I plan on becoming a Doctor, like_ **_some people_ **, he jibes, and Brian rolls his eyes. (Roger still skips classes periodically and won’t let Brian see him wear his glasses to study, though, for fear of losing that last vestige of “cool” he’s holding onto.)

Jay has texted him a couple more times about meeting up, but every time, something comes up — he’s busy, or she’s busy, or some emergency crops up, or some other such thing, and Roger’s really beginning to think that maybe this isn’t meant to happen. _Maybe she’s just making excuses to let you down more easily,_ his father taunts in the back of his mind. _It’s not as though you deserve to be let down easily, though — you’re a man and need to act like one. A harder let down would toughen you up._

_Stop it,_ he pleads, but the voice won’t leave him alone, and Roger’s beginning to wonder if soulmates are a pipe dream after all and his father was right all along.

——

The only thing that keeps Roger from fully sinking into despair over the whole situation is that Jay seems unhappy too; at least, if the . . . - - - . - . . - . - . - - _(sorry)_ messages he keeps getting late at night are any indication. Oddly enough, he’s far more comforted by the short choppy messages they send over the string than any longer, more eloquent text message.

Brian would probably say it’s because he doesn’t have to open up on there; rather hard to spill your deepest secrets when a single word takes a lot longer to send and decipher than an easily-read text message. Freddie would probably say it’s because he enjoys the thrill of knowing that he’s essentially sending messages in code, like a spy. He knows Morse code isn’t something frequently used, so even without the string being invisible to others, he’s always basically sending secret messages that no one around him could decipher. (Roger _does_ enjoy the idea of sending coded messages — always has, but he doesn’t think that’s why it’s comforting). His mother would probably say it’s because he’s communicating directly to his soulmate through their connection, rather than letting a digital medium dilute it. Maybe it’s all of these reasons, maybe it’s none of them.

All Roger knows is that receiving a - . . . . - - - . . - - - . . . . . - / - - - . . - . / - . - - - - -. . - _(thought of you)_ through the string to accompany some texted meme or other image is somehow much more likely to put a smile on his face than any well-worded text, no matter how shitty his day has been. Maybe this is worth fighting for after all.

——

Roger’s 21 ½ and not looking where he’s going.

He’s got a lecture to get to, and while he’s normally a bit more devil-may-care about his punctuality, he can’t afford to be late to this class. He’s taking care not to run into anyone, of course (he’s not Brian with his head buried so far into his textbooks that they might as well be surgically implanted, after all), but he’s not exchanging the usual pleasantries with people he walks by.

Things have been looking up a bit more lately; in the past 6 months, they’ve managed to find a new bassist — a quiet fellow named John who shares his passion for cars and fondness for practical jokes, and rehearsals with the four of them playing together sound _good._ Roger’s not one for superstition (even if he does like to hold onto his daydream of happily ever after endings for soulmates), but he thinks this might be it; what pushes their band ahead to something great.

His courses are still a struggle at times, but as he counts down the days (until the end of the week, the month, the term, the degree) he finds that as long as he takes things one day at a time he’s alright. His social life has still remained abysmal, but it’ll be so worth it when he’s finished this slog and partying like a rock star, whereas Brian will likely still be studying into his 70s (but that’ll be due to his friend’s dedication rather than a penchant for procrastination).

Both he and Jay have stopped asking about meeting up, the two of them apparently so busy that asking about getting together has become more of a token question than anything recently. The little he knows is that apparently she works part-time admin for a dance studio, and he’s told her about the little stall he and Freddie run selling clothes and art. She says she ought to pay a visit, but Roger has yet to see her and he figures it’s just something she said to sound supportive. 

_You probably won’t ever meet her,_ his father’s voice taunts. _Would serve you right for holding onto a stupid fairytale dream for so long. True love doesn’t exist, and you’re a fool for thinking you could beat impossible odds._

He shakes his head slightly; he can’t be dwelling on this. (He doesn’t _want_ to be dwelling on this, but that’s besides the point — he has an exam coming up and needs to not be focusing on the way his father still manages to influence his life even from afar.) He’s mentally running over notes in his head about the last chapter in the textbook they covered, when suddenly he feels a sharp tug on the string.

Looking down at his wrist, he can see the string is taut, the usual lax strand now pulling tightly… to a student walking in the opposite direction. She’s examining her wrist too before she looks up, wide-eyed, and both of them just stand there staring at each other and the string in turn, disbelieving.

Roger can’t believe this is happening. After so long thinking he might never meet her, she’s right here in front of him. What should he say? What should he do? He has nothing arranged or prepared, and his usual silver tongue has deserted him. “Jay?” he croaks, grimacing at the sound of his voice.

Thankfully she doesn’t seem to pay attention to that, merely stepping forward and letting the string slacken off a bit, a look of wonder in her own eyes. “Roger?”

Roger nods, and for a brief terrifying moment, he wonders if he’s dreaming. That he’s so desperate for this to be real that he’s conjured up the image of what he thinks their meeting would look like.

But then Jay is surging forward, hugging him right there on the concrete sidewalk, and Roger can _actually_ feel it — God, it’s just as good as he thought it would feel, being hugged and held by his soulmate. He wraps his arms around her too once he’s recovered from the slight shock, and he gets to relish in the dual sensation of not only being held, but getting to hold her too; the two of them just wrapped up together in each other’s arms.

Then Roger remembers his class and curses. Why couldn’t this have come at a better time? He’s going to lose her again! Pulling back, he can see Jay looks conflicted as well, and he wants to ask why; truly, he does, but he has to go _now_ if he wants to make this lecture on time.

He fumbles apologies, hastily backing away so as not to immediately turn his back on her, hoping against hope that she’ll understand. She doesn’t look unhappy, though (or rather, she _does_ , but somehow Roger knows it’s not directed at him), and merely waves at him as she stands and watches him leave.

Roger has never hated this class more in his life.

——

Jay sends him a text message that he sees once he leaves his lecture. _[What a surprise to see you here! Are you also going to uni at this school? I thought you were someplace else. Also, now that we’ve met, I feel like we should actually do something to hang out? Get together at home, or get coffee, or something? Only if you want to, tho.]_

There’s a lot to unpack here. Roger stares at his phone screen, trying to decide how to answer this when another text comes in: _[God, I’m so sorry about that last text and that mini-interrogation. Don’t feel obligated to answer or agree to anything. Sorry again.]_

Reading over that new text, Roger’s now even more unsure about how to answer. She _doesn’t_ want coffee, then? That said, she seems nervous — maybe almost as nervous as he feels. Despite talking on and off through the string and texts for seven years, neither of them really seems to know what to do with each other. After all, just because they have a physical connection in the string, doesn’t mean they know how to properly handle each other emotionally or in real life.

He thinks for a moment before replying back: _[Yeah, I changed schools last year. Don’t think I told you, sorry. And yeah, we can get together; I’m good with anything, really.]_

He hopes he doesn’t sound too desperate to actually see her again; ‘I’m good with anything’ is such an open phrase, and he cringes in retrospect. That’s the sort of thing you say when you have no real opinion aside from “yes, I want to see you”, and while that’s alright for people in a much more established friendship (or relationship), that’s a terrible choice of words here.

He waits for a text back, but it never comes, and Roger worries he’s gone and messed it up. He’s about to send a second text apologizing for not making any decisions and making some of his availability more clear, when he gets an unexpected tug on the string.

Reflexively, he looks up; is she here? A quick sweep with his eyes (and then a second one once he actually puts his glasses on) reveals that no, she is not, and Roger finds himself unusually disappointed by this. But then the string tugs again, and again, and it takes him a minute to realize Jay’s responding this way instead of a text. _(Tomorrow?)_ she asks. _(Have break from classes at 1.)_

_(Sure. Where?)_

_(Big fountain in courtyard?)_

_(Okay.)_

Even as stilted as this conversation is due to how limited they have to be to conserve time and newly discovered awkwardness, Roger still gets a warm feeling from it — not only did she reach out, but she _chose_ to use the string instead of a text. (Maybe she thinks it’s special too?)

——

Their second meeting is just as awkward as Roger predicted it would be; both of them sitting there in silence, Jay fidgeting with her end of the string and causing it to ripple along its length. Roger hates it; this tension between them. He doesn’t want to be this uncomfortable together, to prove his father right that the people tied to you aren’t any more special than anyone else.

He also hates that it’s not automatically as easy as television dramas and films make it look; that you can’t just ease right into a good relationship while leaving everything unspoken. Because while soulmates always seem to instantly know each other well in fiction, in real life, you’re left to ask the awkward questions and figure it all out on your own.

It also doesn’t help that Jay’s not like the numerous girls he’s brought back to the flat, or chatted up after a show. Smooth words and pretty promises are easy when they don’t mean anything past a night or two, but whatever he does will potentially affect him (and by extension her; they’ve both felt the too-painful tugs on the string when his dad has pushed him around or she’s been injured) for the rest of his life. Roger wants to make sure he does this right.

Even if they don’t end up dating — which is a real possibility; plenty of people don’t end up romantically with their soulmate — Roger would like to at least be friends? He doesn’t think that’s an unrealistic goal, even if he is trying to err on the side of caution and accept that the dream of marrying his soulmate and being in love and happy for the rest of their lives may not be completely achievable. But for now, he actually has to _talk_ to her if he wants this to go anywhere.

He clears his throat awkwardly, trying to figure out where to begin. “So.”

“So,” Jay echoes, still fidgeting with the string and not meeting his eyes from where they’ve sat themselves on the wide edge of the fountain.

_God, why does no one ever mention how awkward real life soulmate meetings are?_ “So… where should we go with this?” Roger asks, voice practically a whisper as he dreads what kind of answer he’ll receive. He’s not sure if things are better or worse for them having known each other for so long, because they have those years of communication, but it hasn’t been deep or frequent for a while. So they’re not quite strangers, because they’ve known each other for years, but they’re not close friends either.

Jay thinks about that for a minute or two, and it makes Roger tense. When she speaks, her voice is also quiet, and Roger has to lean in slightly to hear her over the noise of other students walking by and chatting. “Well, I should probably apologize first.”

Well, that’s unexpected. “Apologize? What for?”

“For not trying harder? Not making more of an effort to actually meet you sooner? Maybe things wouldn’t seem so weird right now if I’d tried more in the last few years. I don’t know.” Jay shrugs and goes back to fiddling with the string, and Roger wishes he had more answers himself, not knowing how to respond.

Then he gets an idea, and carefully reaches to tug on his own end of the string. Jay looks up, startled, before her eyes light up in recognition of what Roger is doing: _(It okay.)_

_(Really?)_

_(Really.)_

_(But we beside each other. Still using this. It bad, if we can’t talk?)_ Jay looks anxious now.

_(Does it matter?)_ Roger shrugs back and grins. _(And we are talking. Just not out loud.)_

And maybe Jay has a point about not getting too reliant on this; their oldest method of communication, but it’s also a lot more comfortable to use this right now, and maybe that’s what they need? In time they’ll probably get better at this, but at this moment, if pulling on a string while they sit side by side together is what helps to make them talk, then so be it.

——

Roger’s 22 and a little bit in love with his soulmate.

There was a bit of a slow start, but once they get past the initial hurdle of actually trying to talk more and make an effort to spend time together, they’ve become thick as thieves. They hang out whenever they have free time, Jay visits the stall (and it turns out she and Freddie actually know each other through a mutual friend; a quieter man who calls himself Reg who’d been a few years ahead of Jay in the Music program at uni), and Roger stops by the dance studio occasionally to annoy her.

There’s been no talk of dating, and she’s said he’s free to go ahead and see/sleep with others, but Roger’s been making more and more excuses for why he can’t (“too busy”, “not a good time”, “not looking at the moment”) and he’s not as bothered as he thought he’d be by this development. The truth of the matter is, he either can’t be bothered to be out looking, or if he has attempted, there’s just no spark of attraction. He enjoys the view, maybe a quick snog here and there, but overall he’s alright carrying on the way he is. 

He also tries not to think about it too much, but he suspects that part of the reason that none of these dalliances have worked out is that he’s developing actual feelings for Jay. He knows there’s no guarantee she likes him that way in return; knows that saying anything could very well topple the fragile house of cards that is his confidence in his relationship with his soulmate. He also knows that even if Jay does return his feelings, he can kiss all chances of sex goodbye unless there’s an arrangement for opening their relationship, but if he has to choose between sex and losing the one person he’s tied to for life? There’s no contest.

He’s not sure when he developed feelings; the moment when he looked at her, or thought of her, and said “ _Oh_ ,” as the lightbulb clicked on in his mind and the realization hit. But every time they spend time together, it puts him in a good mood; every time they talk late at night with the string he falls asleep with a smile on his face. The one serious argument that they’d had had left him feeling anxious and dizzy in a way that Roger didn’t want to repeat, after it left them not on speaking terms for two days.

At some point along the line, he’s started to consider the possibility that what he’s feeling may be more than just a little crush, and may be even closer to the border of “love” (not that he’ll admit it to anyone). He should probably talk to her about this; she’ll notice if something is wrong, and he owes it to her to at least be honest about how he feels.

He’s not entirely sure how to bring it up, so he decides to do so the next time they’re hanging out at the flat he shares with the band. Brian is off in their room studying, Freddie is out with a friend, and John’s either out working or spending time with his own soulmate (one of Roger’s own previous flings — oh, what a small world it is). There’s enough privacy for him to talk about this; get it out in the open with no interruptions.

But first — he needs an icebreaker. He pops a Lego Batman game into the system; something easy that they can zone out to and chat while they play. And sure enough, one look at the menu screen has Jay grinning when she arrives. “Ah, a classic!” She nods in approval. “Very good choice; I knew we were friends for a reason.”

Despite his nerves, Roger finds himself grinning back in response; there’s something about Jay that always seems to diffuse his tension, and now is no exception. He indicates the two beers and bag of crisps he’s laid out on the coffee table with a flourish. “Not only do I have great taste in games, but I’ve provided you with sustenance as well. I’m a real catch.”

Part of him wants to curl up in a hole at his last sentence, afraid that Jay will laugh at it outright and tell him she’d never consider him in that way. But she just giggles, edges of her eyes crinkling as she does, and Roger thankfully doesn’t see any malice there. “That you are.” Her voice softens slightly. “Anyone would be lucky to have you.”

There’s a bit of a pause after that, and Roger is inwardly frantic — this is getting way too serious way too fast, and it’s going off the script he wants to stick to. He’s sure he’s blushing slightly at that, though: _she thinks someone would be lucky to have me! Maybe…?????_ He clears his throat awkwardly to break the silence, cursing himself when he stammers slightly. “Y-yeah. I suppose. Uh, you wanna have a seat? Realized I forgot a bottle opener.”

He dashes off to the kitchen, breathing out a sigh of relief and closing his eyes for a moment. That was a close one. He needs to ease into this; not just blurt out his feelings the way 12-year-old him would have. He grabs the bottle opener and makes his way back out, only to be greeted by the sight of both bottles already opened and Jay looking at him with an amused yet apologetic expression. “They’re twist-offs. Realized it after you left, so I just opened them. Sorry.”

“Oh. Alright.” _Whoops._ He should have remembered that; apparently he’s more distracted by this than he realized. 

“Sorry,” Jay apologizes again as he just stands there, bottle opener in hand and feeling like a moron. “Didn’t mean to make you feel stupid. Please sit?”

Roger shakes himself slightly. She’s going to think he’s upset with her if he doesn’t recover himself, and then all his plans for the afternoon will be ruined. “Yeah. Sorry, just got distracted for a mo’.” He plonks himself down on the sofa beside Jay and grabs his controller, smirking. “Ready to get your arse kicked?”

She arches an eyebrow at him as the cutscene plays in the background. “This is a cooperative game.”

“Yeah, but I’ll still win!” The game screen loads, and Roger proves his point by immediately punching Jay’s character to bits, causing LEGO pieces to fly all over the screen. “See? Winning!”

“Oh, is _that_ how we’re playing this?” Jay makes her character run away, laughing as Roger chases her around the map.

They do eventually manage to settle down enough to actually play through some levels (though they do have a competition over who can collect the most coins, and neither of them are above launching a sneak attack to kill the other and collect some of their riches), and Roger feels himself loosening up; the question he wants to ask Jay relegated to the back of his mind as he just focuses on having fun with her instead. The beers and crisps disappear, and Roger’s feeling pretty good. He’s not drunk — he has a much higher tolerance than that, _thankyouverymuch_ — but with the low-level alcohol buzz and the pleasantness of spending time with Jay running through his veins, Roger’s far less tense than he was earlier.

They get to a break in the storyline, and Jay excuses herself to go use the loo. Left to his own devices, Roger thinks through his options and strategies and decides he’ll tell her when she comes back. He can’t wait too much longer, or Freddie and John will come home and then his plan is ruined. (He’s a little surprised he hasn’t heard from Brian, but then again, he’s also not surprised in the least.)

Jay returns, grinning and settling herself back in on the sofa beside Roger. “I’m back! Ready to keep going?”

Well, this is it. Now or never. Roger resists the urge to just tug on the string and tell Jay that way; they've agreed that they need to not use it as a crutch for uncomfortable topics, but it’s very difficult right now and his hands twitch slightly. “Uh. Actually. I— I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh?” Jay frowns. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah; yeah. Everything’s fine.” God, his mouth is so dry. Why didn’t he think to grab more beer while she was gone? Or water, at least. “It’s just… we’ve known each other for a while, right?”

“Right.” Jay nods, brow furrowed in confusion.

“And I mean, I know we had a few awkward years, but we’ve gotten past that, right?”

“Right…” Jay responds slowly, clearly still not understanding where he’s going with this.

“What I mean is, we’ve gotten closer more recently. We’re good friends. Really good.” Roger cringes inwardly. None of this is coming out the way he wants it to, and Jay probably thinks he’s an idiot.

Thankfully, she doesn’t say anything to that effect and just nods again, though the look of confusion is still apparent on her face. “We are.”

He sighs in frustration, running his hand through his hair. “God, I’m not making any sense. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” She looks at him reassuringly. “Take your time if you need.”

“I don’t know that time will help,” Roger tells her. “Just makes things more convoluted the more I think about it.”

“Oh.” She thinks for a moment, before offering: “Would… would you rather do it this way?” She holds up her wrist, indicating the string.

“I was trying not to.” Roger shakes his head. “We can’t be using it as a way to avoid things we can’t or don’t want to say out loud.”

_(But if it breaks ice?)_ She tugs on the string and looks at him, gaze steady. _(Plus, it slower. Might help get thoughts in order?)_

She does have a point there. Besides, if he keeps this up out loud, he may very well end up confessing in front of Freddie and John after all, with the amount of time he’s taking. He considers the option for a brief moment, before nodding. Jay beams at him encouragingly as Roger takes his own end of the string in hand, trying to figure out how best to word this.

He considers a couple of options before scrapping them; deciding the direct approach is best here. No room for eloquence in Morse code, but maybe that’s for the best — an icebreaker, like Jay said, and once she knows, he can say more out loud (assuming this all goes well). He lowers his gaze to focus on the string and begins his message: . . / . - . . . . - . - . / - . - - - - - . . - _(I like you.)_ Jay gasps at that realization, but he’s not done yet: - - . - - - / - - - . . - - / . - - . . - . . . . / - - .? _(Go out with me?)_

He lowers the string and looks at his lap for a moment, not facing Jay. “...so now you know. I don’t know if you think of me that way; if you’d rather I just shut up and drop it,” _she probably will, you nancy,_ his father’s sneer appears in his mind, and Roger squeezes his eyes shut, trying to banish the image, “...I’ll just leave it be, and we can pretend this never happened. Sorry.”

There’s silence after that; no response to his Morse code declaration of feelings and mumbled verbal confirmation afterwards, and Roger worries that he’s ruined everything. But then there’s a gentle tug on the string — gentle but insistent, trying to get his attention — and when Roger looks up, it’s to see Jay leaning in towards him, and then her lips are on his, and they’re soft and warm and everything Roger has dreamed of. He’s startled for a moment, but recovers quickly, reaching out to put his arm around her waist gently, other hand tangling itself up in the string as he takes her hand in his.

They pull apart after a few seconds, breathless and faces flushed, before a slow grin spreads on Jay’s face. “Thank God you feel the same,” she says quietly, leaning against him before kissing his cheek with a contented sigh. “I’d hoped, but I didn’t know for certain— just, _God_. I thought I might need to make a move for a bit, but I didn’t want to ruin anything either. And I mean, I’d have been happy if we’d ended up being just good friends like Reg and Bernie, but I was kind of hoping you’d feel the same and I just— sorry, I’m rambling,” she cuts herself off, blushing a deeper shade of red.

“S’alright.” Roger shakes his head, a smile appearing on his own face as he pulls her closer, hands tangling further in the string. “I’m just glad you didn’t slap me or tell me to fuck off.”

“I would _never_ ,” Jay declares vehemently, fiddling with the string and looping it around their joined hands with a grin. “You’re stuck with me.”

“You might not say that when you hear me playing drums in the house ‘til all hours,” Roger jokes, before realizing the implications of what he’s just said. “Uh. That is to say. I mean…”

“Maybe not quite yet.” Jay chuckles, untangling the string again and freeing their hands, but still not letting go. “That might be a _little_ too fast. But maybe one day? When neither of us have to live with a plethora of roommates underfoot, and we’re done with uni?”

“Yeah.” Roger smiles at that, before smirking and tangling the string back up again, winding it around and around their hands and arms and making an impossible mess. Jay protests, but she’s also giggling at his antics, laughing at the horrible tangle they’ll have to undo if they want to have some more freedom of movement later on. “Regretting your decision yet?”

He means it as a joke (or maybe a little part of him doesn’t), but Jay’s expression sobers and she gives him a knowing look. “Never,” she whispers, squeezing their bound hands together.

The anxiety is still there, asking _what if_ in the back of his mind, but Roger ignores it in favour of tangling the string up even more. “Then you’ll just have to get used to always being this close,” he declares, pulling Jay further into his side. “Because I spent _years_ without you, and I plan on making the most of my time with you now.”

“Is that so?” Jay raises her eyebrows, but makes no move to untangle the string, leaving them bound (even more than they already are by nature).

“That is so.” Feeling emboldened by the positive reaction he’s gotten so far, Roger leans in, ready to kiss Jay again, when he hears the front door unlocking and groans, knowing that their privacy will be gone in another minute or so. _How do they always manage to interrupt him right when things are getting good?_

Jay snickers slightly at his crestfallen look, and kisses his cheek before beginning to detangle their arms again. “No need to rush,” she murmurs. “We’ve got plenty of time. There’ll be other opportunities to snog you senseless in the future.”

“ _Me?_ ” Roger gapes in mock-offence. “Don’t be ridiculous. If anyone’s going to be snogged senseless, it’s you.”

“Care to wager?” Jay smirks as she waves at John as he passes by, dropping things off in his and Freddie’s room.

“Oh, you’re on.”

——

Roger’s 23 and making a mess of everything.

He and Jay have been together for three months now; he’s finished his degree, she’s almost done hers, and Queen is finally going places. The band is working on an actual album, they’re playing more shows, and Roger’s life is finally picking up in all the ways he wants it to… except his relationship.

Sure, they’ve been dating, spending time doing normal couple-y things, but there’s been no talk of moving their relationship up to the next level. They can’t live together — he has no space for her in the flat he shares with the band and while she has (marginally) more space at hers, her mother, who apparently frowns heavily on cohabiting before marriage, stops by for visits frequently enough that she would have to hide anything of Roger’s to pretend he doesn’t live there. He’d suggested getting their own separate place, but Jay had grimaced and said that a sudden change in address would be suspicious to her parents. So living separately it is.

And that brings up another thing to be anxious about; he hasn’t met her family yet. There’s always been some excuse or another, and Roger’s beginning to get the feeling that Jay doesn’t want her parents to know about him. Is that it? She’s ashamed of him?

It’s been a while since he’s had any intrusive thoughts, but he’s not surprised when his father’s voice starts interrupting him as he’s trying to fall asleep at night again. _Of course she’s ashamed of you. You think she cares about you now, but she doesn’t want anyone to know about the pathetic boy she’s dating._

He knows that’s not true; that Jay has been more than forthcoming with her friends about dating him, that she’ll happily walk around hand in hand with him and allow him to kiss her in public (or kiss him herself)… it’s just her family. And somehow, that’s just as bad.

He wants to ask why she does that; why she won’t share this with him, but he’s afraid. Afraid of what she might tell him, and afraid she might decide that now is a great time to just move on from Roger and his weird clinginess and prove his father right all along.

So he puts up a front of normalcy and pretends everything is alright; tells jokes, dispenses just enough affection and attention that nothing seems odd, and tries to ignore the fact that his sleep is being disrupted more often than not these days.

He hates the fact that his anxiety is playing up again after so long having been fine, and he hates that his father has instilled all these doubts in him. Jay loves him, he knows this ( _Or does she?_ his father mocks), and he’s sure that she’s not ashamed of him ( _Why wouldn’t she be? You’re clingy and annoying_ ) and that she’ll want him to meet her family ( _What for? That’s for people you want to stay in your life for an extended period of time, and no one would want a pathetically needy person like you around. Still daydreaming about that happily ever after, when it’ll never come_ ).

It leaves him on edge and snappish after a while, biting back at anyone who dares get too close, and Roger hates every minute of it. Why can’t he control his emotions and mental state better?

He hits a particular low when he snaps at Jay over something small; she accidentally knocks over his crash cymbal when she walks too closely to the kit and bumps it, and suddenly Roger is giving her a vicious diatribe, lashing out at her carelessness while his mind is repeating a vicious cycle of _she bumped it because she doesn’t care; why bother being careful around your things. You aren’t worth the effort._

It’s only when he sees tears well up in her eyes that he realizes what he’s done and how far he’s gone, and watching her practically trip over her own feet to leave the room and get away from him breaks his heart and brings tears to his own eyes.

—

Jay doesn’t speak to him for three days. Won’t answer his calls or texts, and the string remains lax when Roger tries to send her apologies via Morse code. He’s beginning to despair; this is far worse than the argument they’d had before they started dating, and he wonders whether he’s doomed himself with a self-fulfilling prophecy. He doesn’t want to think that his father was right (he never does), but what else is he supposed to think when Jay won’t respond to anything he sends anymore?

Maybe she’s decided he’s too much. Too clingy, too angry, too anxious, too loud, too _everything_ , and wants to find someone who’s less effort. He wouldn’t blame her, honestly.

It hurts when he sees her out at a local park with friends; her easy carefree attitude untainted by his negativity and not mired down in his neediness. Maybe he needs to break up with her; make it official?

He’s so lost in his thoughts he almost forgets to duck around a corner of one of the park rec buildings when Jay approaches, calling back apologies to her friends for needing to take a call from her mother and telling them she’ll see them on another day instead. Then she’s on the phone and it sets off a new pang in his heart when he remembers again that Jay doesn’t want her parents to know he exists. Or rather, to know that he exists in her immediate periphery.

There’s usual chat; what’s her mother up to at work these days, Jay promising to visit more often, and Roger wishing he could slip away without it being really obvious he’s listening in. Yes, they’re in a public space (and he can easily say he was having a smoke), but it still _looks_ bad?

Then the conversation takes a turn Roger’s not expecting in the least: Jay’s apparently being (gently) interrogated about her personal life. She goes red in embarrassment as she assures her mother that yes, she’s getting enough sleep and studying for exams the way she should. Yes, she’s making sure to balance her social life and eat properly.

It goes quiet for a moment after that, and when he peeks around the corner of the building he can see Jay nodding, replying in the affirmative. “Yeah. I’ve met him, Mum. Ran into him at uni, funny enough.”

…it sounds as though she’s talking about him. No, it can’t be. Could be anyone—

“—just walking to my class, and I just felt a tug on my wrist, and he was walking in the opposite direction to his own,” her voice continues, and now Roger has to resist the urge to look down at his own wrist and to fiddle with the string, knowing for certain that the conversation is about him now. While a part of him is elated to know that Jay is telling her mother about him, another part is wondering when she’ll tell her mother that he’s no good; that it’s no use bringing him around because he's not what she wants? 

Then she speaks again, and it’s as though all the air has been punched out of his lungs. “I think you’d really like him, Mum. He’s incredibly sweet and caring, and I don’t think I’ve ever met someone half as kind as Roger.”

Tears are welling up in his eyes now as he turns away and tries to compose himself. She really thinks that? She’d tell her mother that she thinks he’s sweet? Caring? But what about his anxiety? What about his worries, his temper? Shouldn’t she be telling her mother about that too?

When Roger dares another glance around the corner, he can see a shy smile on her face, eyes sparkling as she talks about him some more. How he’s playing in a band, but completed schooling. How he might not be the most well-off, but that doesn’t matter to her because he’s her soulmate.

Jay finishes her call with the standard familial declarations of love and promises to visit soon, and when he hears the phrase “—I’ll see if Roger can come along too next time,” Roger can no longer stifle a single loud sob, too overcome with emotion. 

She hangs up the phone and looks around, startled. “Someone there?”

Roger can hear the crunch of gravel beneath her feet as she walks, no doubt trying to find the person listening in on her, but he finds that he can’t even move from his spot, rooted in place by his own combination of overwhelmed disbelief and a small but growing feeling of hope.

Jay turns the corner to see him leaned up against the brick wall, and her eyes widen. No doubt she wasn’t expecting to see him, either at all or in his current state, sliding down the wall to sit on the ground, tears falling from his eyes with abandon.

He expects her to leave, to not want to deal with him in this ridiculous weepy state, unable to get a grip on his own emotions from a simple set of indirect affirmations over the phone. But Jay does the opposite, immediately sitting down beside him to throw her arms around his shoulders, holding him close. “Blondie, what’s wrong?” she murmurs into his ear, letting one hand stroke through his hair gently, comfortingly.

“You— you sounded so happy when you talked about me,” he chokes out, sniffles punctuating his sentence. “Thought you hated me. Thought I’d ruined everything.” He looks down, unable to meet her eyes.

“I don’t hate you,” her voice is concerned. “I was upset, yeah, but I mean, it was my own fault for not being more careful and watching where I was going. I was mad at myself and didn’t want to admit I was wrong, especially after you yelled at me. So I hid away from you.” She sounds embarrassed now. “It wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had.”

Roger doesn’t quite know what to make of that, and doesn’t fully trust his voice yet. Jay continues: “I’m sorry that I made you think I hated you, though. You’re my soulmate; tied to me for life, and the perfect match to my heart. Why wouldn’t I be happy when I talk about you?”

Roger thought he was done crying. He thought wrong; the tears come back with a vengeance at that and he throws his arms around Jay, soaking her jacket as she lets him cling desperately to her, never once complaining about him being clingy or a nuisance. _She probably still thinks you’re one—_ his father’s voice starts, but Roger shakes his head slightly, trying to dismiss the dark thoughts.

Jay says nothing as he holds her tightly, clutching onto her as though he’s afraid she’ll vanish. He wants to tell her how much this means to him, how much he can’t believe that she’s accepted him back with no hard feelings (because while she might have been careless with her step, he was unduly harsh), but the words won’t come, choked up as he is.

So instead, he goes for the surefire method and tugs on the string gently, hand shaking slightly and his chest still heaving with his shaky breathing. _(So glad I found you.)_

_(Glad I found you too,)_ the response comes back, and Roger knows that if he were to look up, he’d likely see a warm smile on her face.

_(You still love me?)_

This time he does look up, but only because Jay tilts his chin up to make him face her. She looks sad, and for a split second Roger thinks he’s offended her with his doubts. But then she pulls him closer again, letting his head rest on her shoulder as she holds him again, whispering in his ear. “Of course I love you. I always will. I’m only sorry to see you suffering right now; I wish I knew how to help you better.”

_(Helping by being here,)_ he replies, closing his eyes and breathing in the comforting scent of her shampoo in her hair (as best he can while congested, anyway), basking in the feeling of being loved and accepted regardless of his erratic emotional states. _(Didn’t get lot of good about soulmates as kid. You’re best thing ever happen to me.)_

He knows he should probably have a discussion with her at some point about the specifics of his childhood and how his father had (and continues to) fuel his fears and insecurities regarding soulmates, but right now he just leans further into Jay’s warm hold, letting her presence calm him.

They can’t stay there forever, of course, and they end up vacating their impromptu seats relatively soon after when it starts to rain. She takes him back to hers, and after finding out that he has no band business until the following evening, she ends up inviting him to stay the night rather than sending him home in the terrible downpour. While it’s nothing they haven’t done before on occasion, somehow tonight it feels so much more reassuring to Roger. Like she truly does want him to be with her always, the two of them safe and happy together.

He still ends up lying awake long after Jay has fallen asleep, but tonight, with her curled up into his side, head resting on his chest, arm slung over his torso possessively, and legs tangled together in his, Roger has never felt more free.

_(Love you so much,)_ he sends gently and carefully, knowing Jay won’t feel it, but wanting to say it anyway.

Unexpectedly, _(Lve y to)_ comes back after a minute or two, the letters slow and deliberate, words misspelled, the tugs on the string weak and shaky, but the meaning of the message unmistakably clear. It makes Roger’s heart skip a beat, especially when Jay cuddles up even closer to him in her sleep right after, and when he eventually falls asleep himself, his father’s cruel voice is nowhere to be heard.

——

Roger’s 24 and thinks he might want to kill his soulmate.

Not really.

Well, _maybe_ really.

They’ve been fighting a lot recently, and Roger hates it. He doesn’t like the sick feeling that rises up in his gut, the way his anxiety chokes him like a necktie that’s been tied too tightly, the way his father’s voice emerges from the background of his mind to remind him of his shortcomings.

Some days he raises his voice and all he can hear is his father’s tone, and that scares him more than anything. Is he going down a path of no escape?

And yet, he doesn’t admit it. He throws up a wall of anger and bluster that no one can look past, unwilling to let anyone see his fear. He’s not the _soft one_ in the band. Let John hold that title; Roger is the loud and brash and boisterously rock n’ roll one. (Jay knows otherwise, of course; sees past the jagged edges of his facade, but lets him maintain his image.)

But now… now they’re fighting and he doesn’t know what to do. He’d asked Jay to come on their upcoming tour with him, wanting to have her near and to share this experience with him. She’d said no; that she had responsibilities at home to tend to.

Rationally, he knows it’s a lot harder for her to pack up and take off for a few months than it is for him, but the rejection still stings and he soon finds himself arguing over every little thing in retaliation. It doesn’t help that it seems as though she’s doing the same, going out of her way to do things that she knows will irritate him, and both of them sniping and taking jabs at each other at every opportunity.

It hurts, and the worst part is, now that Roger’s let Jay in and told her about his insecurities with his father, there’s no reason for her to needle at some of the things she is, not knowingly. So it’s either that she’s being deliberately cruel, or that she’s being careless because she doesn’t think it’s worth it to remember these things.

Either way, he’s settling in for what is sure to be the worst Christmas of his life if nothing changes soon; she’s gone off in a huff to visit her family for her dad’s birthday, and he’s left moping around the flat. (Not that anyone knows he’s moping, though. Outwardly he’s just annoyed. It’s the perfect cover.)

He’s on his second playthrough of Half Life in as many weeks, clobbering zombies and soldiers left and right with his crowbar and trying to release some aggression when John plonks himself on the sofa beside him. “Y’need to stop moping,” he says without preamble, which makes Roger nearly drop his controller in shock, because, fuck— is he really that obvious? He thought he’d hidden it better.

“I’m not moping,” he replies automatically, grabbing a health kit and wading into a firefight, only to grumble in frustration when a surprise attack from behind gets him killed. “I’m pissed off.”

“Mmhmm.” The younger man sounds unconvinced. “And the fact that you’ve barely spoken to Jay lately? That really has nothing to do with anything?”

“I’m pissed off _at her_ ,” Roger points out. “She’s being bitchy for no reason.”

“And you’re not being bitchy in return?”

Well, he _is_ , but damn if that doesn’t take the wind out of his sails. “...maybe.”

“So what’s the real problem here?” John sounds far too knowledgeable about this for someone not directly involved. “Because I’m willing to bet that it’s not the fact that she accidentally spilled coffee on you the other day, or any of the ridiculous things you’ve been fighting about.”

God. How does John _know_? “...I asked her to come on tour with us, and she said no.”

“Ah.” Somehow John manages to pack so much into a single syllable it’s ridiculous. He doesn’t say anything afterwards either, just watching as Roger runs around trying to make a series of jumps to cross a chasm and kill the terrifying monstrosity that lives in a deep pool of water.

Finally the silence gets to be too much and Roger cracks again. “...what if she finds someone else while I’m away?” He hates how pathetic he sounds; how insecure this makes him seem, but at the root of it all, he’s still terrified of losing his soulmate. Of his father being right all along.

“Have you told her you’re worried about this?” John gives him a sideways glance, but Roger’s not looking at him. It’s bad enough to be baring himself like this; he’s not turning it into a full soppy discussion with _meaningful eye contact_ too.

“I shouldn’t have to. She knows I have issues because of my dad.” (As do they all, but that’s usually all he discloses; it’s enough of a catch-all sentence that he doesn’t feel the need to say more, and no one pries, which is how he likes it.) “But she’s just going on anyway about how it’s better that she stays here, and she doesn’t even _care_ about what I think.” If his voice catches on the last part, then Roger’s not admitting anything.

John doesn’t acknowledge it either, except to make a noncommittal noise in response. Onscreen, Roger falls into a pool of toxic waste, and both of them just sit there in silence as Roger waits for his health to run out and for him to die, as he won’t make it to a ladder in time. Somehow the slow death feels apt for his situation.

“You really should talk to her.” John’s voice is quiet, but it still feels too loud in the silence as they wait for the loading screen to boot the game back up.

“I _have_ ,” Roger grits out. “She’s not _listening._ ”

“You’ve told her that you worry about losing her?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Then you should _tell her._ ”

The sound of the game audio kicking back in covers Roger’s frustrated huff, but he knows John’s right. He eyes the string tied to his wrist, dangling on the floor innocuously without a care in the world, and waits til John finally decides to step out again to give it a careful tug. _(Can we talk?)_

He doesn’t get a reply back for another hour, but at least it’s not something nasty. _(Yeah.)_

He breathes out a breath he doesn’t know he was holding in. Hopefully this will go well.

—

They don’t actually talk until a few days later when both of their schedules line up to give them enough time to properly discuss this, and despite how frustrated Roger still is, it gives him a faint glimmer of hope that Jay wants this to work; wants _them_ to work, if she wants to have an actual talk? It’s either that or she wants to let him have it, but when he comes over to her flat and sees her, she just looks tired, not angry.

“So,” she begins, sitting on one end of the sofa and facing him, “you wanted to talk? Or did you want to snip at me for something else?”

“Hey,” he protests, already feeling his hackles rising. “You've been just as snippy, so don’t act like you’re on a moral pedestal.”

“I’m just saying, _I’m_ not the one who started this. Or couldn’t be mature about things.” Jay raises her eyebrows and scoffs now, and Roger glares back, even as he’s internally screaming to himself that this is going all wrong.

“So it’s _my_ fault, then. _My_ fault for being unhappy that you can’t be bothered to try and get time off to come with me,” he snarls. “ _My_ fault for wanting you to come with me in the first place. _My_ fault for thinking that you don’t _fucking care_ how this makes me feel.”

Jay’s eyes are wide now, but there’s no stopping him now; not now, when he’s finally opened the floodgates for every ugly thought he’s had since this began. “I’ve told you about my dad,” he insists. “I’ve _told_ you. And now you don’t want to come with me. Didn’t you think that might hurt?”

He’s breathing heavily, and Jay says nothing for a moment. When she does speak, her voice is significantly quieter than his (because she never raises her voice around him, had promised to never shout at him when he’d told her about his father), but no less firm. “You think I don’t _want_ to go with you?” she asks, shaking her head. “You’re traveling to _America_. Overseas! That sounds so exciting, and I’d love to go. I told you this.”

“Then why won’t you?” Roger pleads, leaning forward and taking her hand in his own. “Come with me, _please_.”

“Because I _can’t_ ,” she repeats. “You know I can’t lose my job; it’s all well and good for you not to have one because of the band, but what will I do when the tour is over?” Then her shoulders slump and she pulls her hand away again as her voice grows even quieter. “...my dad’s also been having the chest pains again, so I have to stay home to help my mum out if she needs.”

Roger’s own eyes widen. “You didn’t tell me your dad was bad off again. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Bit hard to tell you when you’d already made up your mind to be angry at me.” Jay laughs mirthlessly. “You heard me say no, and that’s all you cared about. I know you have issues with your own dad, but I’m also allowed to make my own decisions, and you need to be able to accept that they won’t always be what you want, even if my dad wasn’t sick.”

“ _M’jswrrdy’llfndsmn’lse_ ,” Roger mumbles, ducking his head now. His reason sounds stupid now by comparison, but John would probably say he needs to say it anyway to clear the air.

“What?”

“I’m just worried you’ll find someone else,” Roger repeats, louder this time as his cheeks go red. “That you wouldn’t want to wait for me to come back, and you’d find someone better.”

“Someone else?” Jay echoes in disbelief, before Roger feels her tugging at the string. _(No one else. Only you.)_ A pause, before Jay’s going red in embarrassment too. _(Thought you might find too. More exciting. More to give.)_

_(No one give more than you,)_ Roger replies, and while the ache of disappointment is still present, it’s no longer exacerbated by the pain of rejection. _(No one more exciting.)_

“Really.” Jay’s voice is flat, startling Roger slightly as she chooses to speak out loud. “I think we both know I’m not anything like the crowd of people who you see at your concerts. At your parties. My idea of fun is to come home and read a book, not to party. I’m not exciting in the least.”

“You are to me,” Roger says softly, reaching out to take her hand in his own again. And it’s true; while they do have very different ideas of what constitutes a good time, he likes just being able to come back to her flat sometimes and curl up on the sofa together while they read in silence, or bundle up under a blanket to watch a movie. Parties are nice, but Jay’s a calm centre to the whirlwind that is his life.

She still looks disbelieving, and Roger wants to prove it to her. Prove that he really doesn’t want anyone else; that he only ever wants his soulmate by his side. He’s suddenly struck by a thought, one he’s been considering for a while, but hasn’t come up with a concrete plan for it yet. Well, no time like the present, right?

He tugs on the string before he gets the chance to change his mind. _(Marry me, Jay?)_

Jay drops her end of the string in shock, and her mouth opens and closes a few times before she manages to speak. “I… I’m… what? Marry _me_?”

“Yeah.” Roger nods, already sending another message. _(Know I’m angry. Know I’m a lot. But I love you. Don’t want someone else.)_ He adds a few extra repetitions of the word ‘love’ in there just to prove his point, before he realizes that Jay still hasn’t really responded and he ducks his head in slight embarrassment.

_(...you not want be married?)_ he sends nervously, every passing moment of silence making Roger wonder more and more if putting all his metaphorical cards on the table was a bad idea.

“...and this isn’t because you want to guarantee that I’ll stay with you?” Jay asks cautiously. “You _just_ said that you worried I’d find someone else.”

“You said that too,” Roger points out, but he belatedly realizes that his impromptu proposal would probably have looked like that; like he wants a guarantee of trust. “I promise, this isn’t because of that.” He reaches out and takes her hand in his own again, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “I’ve been meaning to find a way to ask you properly for a little while, but there was never a good time.”

Jay makes a small noise of acknowledgement but otherwise says nothing, so Roger carries on, wanting to reassure her that this isn’t just an ill-conceived coping method. “I know I have abandonment issues. I know my dad messed me up. But I really do love you; you know that, right?”

“...I do.” She nods.

Roger’s starting to realize that this conversation may not play out the way he was hoping, and he braces himself. He needs to be able to accept if her answer is no. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “If… if you don’t want to, then that’s a-alright.” He prays she doesn’t hear his slight stumble; he’s dealt with enough tonight without that added embarrassment. “You— you can say no. I won’t argue with you.”

“There’s been enough fighting for one day,” Jay agrees. “Look, Rog—”

Oh God. No one ever starts a sentence that way unless they want to deliver bad news. “...yeah?”

Jay sighs and looks down at their joined hands. “I want to marry you.”

Roger’s heart soars at that, but he recognizes that tone of voice. “But…?”

“But I can’t be your crutch. I need to know that you’re not going to keep second-guessing everything or assuming the worst. And I know it’s not entirely your fault; your dad’s a prick,” she reassures him, “but it’s not good for either of us to carry on like this.”

“So what are you saying?” Roger watches her, the clearly obvious tension in her posture that he knows is mirrored in his own.

“...I’m saying I’d like you to see someone about this.” She toys with the string idly in her free hand, looking back up at Roger and meeting his gaze. “And not just because _‘if I don’t do it she won’t marry me’_ , but because you want to get better. I’d much rather we never got married but you were coping better and healthy than to get married and have you upset every time something goes sideways. Is that unfair of me?”

She’s got a point there. This is why he loves her, though; she genuinely wants what’s best for him. For _them_. 

He shakes his head. “No. That’s not unfair.” He doesn’t want his father meddling with his life through his subconscious anymore, and Jay’s right; he can’t be breaking down over every setback to do with her, or he’ll be giving himself heart attacks before he’s 30. “I’ll see someone. For you.”

He can’t help but notice Jay never really answered his question, though, and he points that out to her. _(So will you?)_

_(Yes,)_ Jay sends back, a shy smile growing on her face as she nods in the affirmative. _(I’ll marry you.)_

——

Roger’s 26 and doesn’t think he’s ever been more in love.

He doesn’t recognize the room he’s waking up in for a moment, but then again, that’s nothing unusual with the amount of hotels he’s stayed in on tour. A quick glance over at his side reveals a head of dark hair and bare shoulders, and it all comes back to him; he got _married_ yesterday.

Well, _technically_ they got married a year ago; they’d decided to do it when he’d gotten home from that disaster of a tour (the irony— that after all that fuss and fighting, they’d be sent home so early that he barely had time to miss his soulmate), just a private affair with a minister and two strangers as witnesses while they handfasted themselves, but this one yesterday was the Official one, the public declaration for their friends and family, as well as the rest of the world. 

He’s been trying to do better for himself over the past year too; the therapist that he’s been seeing helping to curb some of the worst of his anxiety attacks, and he knows he’s far more well-adjusted than he was a few years ago (though it turns out his temper is just part of his own hot-headed nature, nothing to do with his anxiety).

A slow smile creeps up on his face as he takes a better look at Jay, cuddled up closely to his side. They’re both naked, but he knows all they’ve done is sleep — he loves the idea of the trust they have, to be that physically close with each other, and both enjoy each other’s company in this way. One of her arms is thrown loosely over his waist, holding onto the string in her sleep, fingers tangled in it in such a way to prevent him from moving away.

Not that Roger wants to. God, he never wants to. Well, maybe to play drums, but otherwise he never wants to leave this spot; wrapped up close and warm in bed with his soulmate by his side. A smirk rises on his face as he thinks, _fuck his dad. Fuck him for saying that soulmates and love like this wasn’t possible._

He pulls Jay closer to him, his own hand tangling into part of the string lying between them, tugging on it idly as he watches her, warm and content against him. She mumbles slightly, her head shifting as she wakes up and yawns.

She tilts her head up and gives him a sleepy smile, before tugging on the string herself; answering his nonsense tugs wordlessly: _(Love you.)_

_(Love you too,)_ Roger answers back, leaning forward to kiss her forehead. _(So much. Can’t believe I get to wake beside you for rest of life.)_

The sentence is stilted, as they always are, but that doesn’t matter; Jay just beams brightly at him and reaches her tangled hand further to hold his before tugging again with her free hand. _(Rest of life. Always.)_

_(How am I so lucky?)_ he asks, frowning slightly as he looks at their intertwined hands, matching gold bands gleaming in the early morning slivers of daylight peeking through the curtains. _(Finding you. Your support. Your love. Too good.)_

_(Nothing too good for you,)_ she replies back automatically. _(You support me too. We take care each other. That what love means.)_ “And I promise I will always love you,” she whispers, voice slightly rough from sleep before she kisses his collarbone. “For the rest of our lives.”

Roger would be lying if he didn’t say that that statement doesn’t give him a warm shivery feeling every time he hears it; that he’s guaranteed to have her always stand by his side. Even though therapy has helped ease his fears of abandonment, it still sometimes doesn’t feel real; that he’s really been so fortunate. “I promise you that too,” he replies, trying to will his voice not to shake. “For all our years to come.”

“I like the sound of that,” she murmurs, raising herself up to look at him better. “Now, I think my _husband_ should give me a kiss; unless he thinks he’s no longer able to snog me senseless?” She gives him an amused look.

Roger props himself up on his elbow at that, putting on a look of shock. “I’ll have you know I will _always_ be able to do that.”

“Then prove it.” Jay winks at him and tugs at the string to pull him closer, and Roger grins, leaning in willingly to kiss her. He’s still not entirely sure how he managed to be lucky enough to wind up here in this moment, but he’s not questioning it, happy to just enjoy this time together with his soulmate.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also @smittyjaws on Tumblr!


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